Little Innocent
by Dangerous Game
Summary: Every night and every morn, some to misery are born. Every morn and every night, some are born to sweet delight. Some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless night. William Blake
1. Prologue&Chapter 1:Auguries of Innocence

' _The Opera Ghost really existed. He was not, as was long believed, a creature of the imagination of the artists, the superstition of the managers, or the absurd and impressionable brains of the young ladies of the ballet, their mothers, the box-keepers, the cloak-room attendants, or the concierge. No, he existed in flesh and blood, though he assumed all the out-ward characteristics of a real phantom, that is to say, of a shade. '_

_Selection from_

Le Fantôme de l'opéra

_By Gaston Leroux_

_Passion._

If you were to look the word up in the dictionary, you might find something like this:

**pas·sion** ) (pshn)  
_n._

1. A powerful emotion, such as love, joy, hatred, or anger.

2.

a. Ardent love.

b. Strong sexual desire; lust.

c. The object of such love or desire.

3.

a.Boundless enthusiasm.

b.The object of such enthusiasm.

4. An abandoned display of emotion, especially of anger.

In Gaston Leroux's novel, _Le Fantôme de l'opéra _or, _The Phantom of the Opera, _the character Erik's passion was the young soprano, Christine Daaé.

In _The Phantom of the Opera, _Leroux describes Christine as 'gentle', 'modest', 'calm', 'dreamy', 'innocent' and 'dedicated to her art'. She is young, beautiful, and talented, but easily deceived. Because of her naïve nature, she is easily fooled by Erik into thinking that he is the Angel of Music. It may have had something to do with her emotional ties to the story of the Angel of Music, stories her Father used to tell her.

'Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Her hair was gold as the sun's rays and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes. She wheedled her mother, was kind to her doll, took great care of her frock and her little red shoes and her fiddle, but most of all loved, when she went to sleep, to hear the Angel of Music…' began the story her Father must of told her many times before he died. Her willingness to believe that Erik was the Angel of Music might be blamed on the story.

The name Erik means 'All-Powerful', and in Gaston Leroux's tale, he is. He seems to be able to appear and disappear at will, he takes Christine _through _her dressing-room mirror, he is shot at and yet is not hit. He builds magical houses underground, and a room of mirrors. He is a genius in all fields, but as the saying goes, 'There is a fine line between genius and insanity.' He is obsessed with Christine Daaé, and he is willing to kill all those who stand in his way. And yet, near end of the story, he lets his rival- Raoul de Changy- go with the woman he adores, and _at the end_, he dies of a broken heart.

'He had a heart who could have held the empire of the world; and in the end he had to content himself with a cellar.' –Gaston Leroux.

There are some who say Erik was far too strong to simply die of a broken heart. Some who say he had to have lived on. But if he had lived, what would have happened? Would he have met another, and become obsessed with her? Yes, there are many who would object to that theory, but it is certainly possible. For what he had for Christine _was not pure love_, but obsession, easily mistaken for pure love by a man who had never known love a day of his life. In fact, in Leroux's novel, he admits:

" 'Then I made her understand that, where she was concerned, I was only a poor dog, ready to die for her…' "

So, if he had found another, could he become obsessed with her, or learn to truly love? But who could ever replace Christine Daaé in his heart?

If he had found another, would he not try a different approach? Tricking Christine did not work. Lying as to his true identity did not work. And, in his mind, perhaps even _being kind_ did not work. So what else could he try?

This is a story exploring three questions: _Could_ Erik 'fall in love' again? And if he did, _how_ would he act upon it?

And if he found another, _who_ would it be?

This is a story of passion, in all its forms.

And this is the story of the _Little Innocent_.

* * *

_Edited Authors Note:_

_For those of you who have read this story before: Since the prologue was deleted, I have now combined it with the first chapter._

_I have taken forever to fix this problem due to life, love, loss and writer's block. Please forgive me._

* * *

_Authors Note: _

_Thank you for reading this. This chapter is no-where near as good as I had hoped it would be, but writing it seemed more difficult then I thought. It isn't near as long as I wanted, too, but that was the perfect place to end for where I want to pick up in the next chapter.  
_

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Le Fantôme de l'opéra (The Phantom of the Opera). It belongs to Gaston Leroux, and no one else.

That being said, please do not sue me.

_Every night and every morn_

_Some to misery are born._

_Every morn and every night_

_Some are born to sweet delight._

_Some are born to sweet delight,_

_Some are born to endless night._

_We are led to believe a lie_

_When we see not through the eye_

_Which was born in a night to perish in a night,_

_When the soul slept in beams of light._

_God appears, and God is light_

_To those poor souls who dwell in night,_

_But does a human form display_

_To those who dwell in realms of day._

_Selection from_

Auguries Of Innocence

_By William Blake_

Trinetta Pettet never dreamed of becoming a famous singer. She loved Opera enough, of course, and was dedicated enough. She may have had enough talent, even. But every time she walked onstage and the audience was there, staring, watching her every move, listening intently for any mistake, judging her in an instant…

…she always felt sick, and she was only a chorus girl.

So why did she work there? If she felt so ill every time she was performing, why did she choose that as a career, instead of staying home and raising a family as most women were expected to?

She loved to sing, and deep inside, she loved to perform. She loved hearing the audience applauding, loved wearing the magnificent costumes, and loved spending every day of her life in music. After a performance, she could look at her face in a mirror, and love who she saw.

Not that she couldn't do that any other day or night…but there was something special about her after a performance. She glowed. Only after a performance did she look…stunning.

Trinetta's looks were really quite plain before a performance. Her skin was sort of milky in some places, sort of a pink-and-light-brown color in others, and her cheeks were far too rosy. Her nose was long, yet small, and was entirely too straight. Her lips were small and only partially full, her teeth were merely off-white, and her neck was far too long. Her hair was waist-length and very curly, and a mixture of light brown, dark brown, and golden brown, yet it was still very plain. The sides of her hair were usually clipped back by plain black pins, in order to keep it out of her eyes.

Her eyes were probably the most beautiful thing about her. They were black, large, and oval-shaped, and shone with a sort of innocent light.

She was very petite; thin and short, unlike most of the other girls in the choir, who were tall and slender. She was nearly a head shorter then everyone else, but then, 'everyone else' was rather tall.

But after a performance…after a performance, her skin was rosy, and it glowed. He eyes shone with joy, her hair was completely down and sometimes it seemed more golden; her teeth were pearls, and she stood a little taller. She was proud of her talent.

She was…actually, she didn't know how talented she was. She had studied for years, but some things she simply hadn't understood. Her voice was lower then most of the other women. Though she was officially a mezzo-soprano, she could also sing contralto with ease, and even sometimes, tenor. Though she did not necessarily learn quickly, she could remember notes. Most of the time, if someone sung the song once to her, she could remember it.

However, sometimes…

"Mademoiselle Pettet, your mouth is not moving." Monsieur Reyer pointed out. "Do you not know the words?"

Trinetta's black eye's met Monsieur Reyer's in apology.

"No, I do not."

"Mademoiselle Pettet, we perform in a week!" he exclaimed. "You _must_ know the full libretto by then!"

"Yes, Monsieur Reyer. I will know it by then."

"Good." He sighed. "We need all the mezzo-sopranos desperately."

Trinetta nodded, and lifted her libretto up to her eye-level, and she began to study the words as Reyer addressed how one of the baritones was standing. After a few minutes, the piano began again. However, before anyone could sing, the door swung open to reveal an out-of-breath stagehand.

"Monsieur Reyer." He said. "Where are the managers?"

"They are meeting with Madame Barret, the ballet mistress. Why?" Reyer demanded.

"I…" he let off the sentence, glancing at the choir. Reyer sighed and left the room, leading the young stagehand by the shoulder.

Meanwhile, the choir glanced at each other, wondering what to do. Trinetta, after a moment of watching the door curiously, returned to studying the libretto. However, she didn't have much time, for only a few minutes later, Reyer rushed back in and snapped,

"Rehearsal is over for the day! Monsieur Merle, work on your posture, and Mademoiselle Pettet, _know the words!_"

Then he went back out the door, and was gone.

Trinetta slowly walked down the halls of the Paris Opera, ready to go home and finish learning the libretto. However, as she passed the foyer that led to the manager's office, she stopped, hearing raised voices. She glanced towards the office, and saw that the door was open a crack. Curious, she took a few steps closer to the door and listened.

"What are we going to _do_, Moncharmin?" Monsieur Firmin Richard, one of the managers, asked the other.

"I don't know, Richard!" Moncharmin exclaimed.

"Perhaps we should try to cover it up?" Firmin asked.

"How? Her family…"

"Just until the season is over! Listen…"

Trinetta didn't listen. She was suddenly terrified of being caught. She continued on her way out of the Opera.

Trinetta Pettet walked offstage with a blissful smile on her face. She could still hear the audience's applause. Of course, it wasn't for her. It was for Carlotta's understudy. But it was superb to hear, nonetheless.

Why was it Carlotta's understudy, anyway? Where was Carlotta? Was she ill, again? And if she was, did it have something to do with the Phantom? He had returned after nearly two years…had it really been two years since the Christine Daaé kidnapping? Two years since Count Philippe de Changy was found, drowned in the underground lake? Two years since his brother left for the North Pole? That long?

Trinetta had often wondered what had happened to Christine. She had known her, briefly, while Christine was in chorus. Trinetta had just joined the Opera, and Christine had already been working there for years. Christine had always seemed so distant, so…so much a part of another world. Trinetta often wondered if, somehow, Christine had known that one day the Phantom would kidnap her. Not literally, of course, but perhaps a feeling, a feeling that one day something terrible would happen, or that the Phantom was connected to her in some way.

But then, _of course,_ she'd place those ridiculous thoughts to one side. No, Christine was most likely simply daydreaming.

Trinetta headed towards the dressing-rooms, releasing her hair from the clips, her first question - _Where was Carlotta? _– forgotten.


	2. Chapter Two: The End of Sanity

A/N: Another not-so-good chapter. Forgive me. It's 2:30 AM and I just drank three cans of Mountain Dew straight in a row.

So RubyMoon_2_ doesn't kill me: RubyMoon_2_ did most of the writing for the prologue, some for the first chapter, and a lot of this. I guess you could say we're both writing this.

And since it took me so long to thank her, I have to add this: If you like this, please read her fanfic Canary. You'd probably like it, too.

Relyan – There's a _little_ more description for Trinetta in this chapter, and there will be a little more in others. I based her look off of a picture that sort of inspired me to write this story, but now I'm not so sure if it fits. If you ever do draw that picture, please do let me know! I would love to see it. And I'm flattered you would consider drawing it. Thank you. I usually have big trouble writing descriptions, so I'm really glad you say you can 'see her'. And, later on you will find out what the name 'Trinetta' means. Or you can just spoil everything and look it up. Or take the 'subtle' hints.

brittanypiercey – Thank you! I'm flattered that you think so, considering Erik is a very complicated character, and difficult to understand. I hope I know his as well as you think I do. From what I wrote in this chapter, I doubt it.

Priestess of Anubis – Excellent pen name. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Hell, I hope _someone_ enjoys this chapter.

Warning: There is brief description of death here. There will be _much _more details on morbid things later. If this disturbs you, by all means, go back and find something more to your liking.

* * *

_Silence speaks -  
Loud and clear - _

All the words we don't want to hear!

At the touch of your hand -  
At the sound of your voice -  
At the moment your eyes meet mine -

I am losing my mind -  
I am losing control -  
Fighting feelings I can't define!

_Selection from_

Dangerous Game

_From_

**Jekyll and Hyde**

_By Leslie Bricusse and Frank Wildhorn _

* * *

If you were to look up the word 'Phantom' in the dictionary, there are four explanations you might find:

1. Something apparently seen, heard, or sensed, but having no physical reality; a ghost or an apparition.

2. Something elusive or delusive.

3. An image that appears only in the mind; an illusion.

4. Something dreaded or despised.

In the case of the Phantom of the Opera, each of the explanations fit.

He slinked silently – unseen – through the halls of his Opera House, a dark, unnoticed shadow. Several times a chorus girl or maid would walk by, mere feet away, but it was as if he _was_ the shadows.

Of course, he would have to be extra careful, due to the audience leaving. If he was going to get back to his lair without being noticed, he would have to be cautious…

After ten minutes of retreating further into the shadows each time a person walked nearby, the Opera Ghost finally found an empty hall. He quickly entered it and began walking quickly – _never running! _– down it. However, once he had made it halfway, he noticed a young woman entering the hall ahead of him.

Hiding in the shadows, he watched her as she slowly walked down the hall, wide black eyes observing her surroundings as if it were the first time she had seen them. A chorus girl, he realized as he recognized the costume. Certainly she was not lost? Her dressing-room must be near there…

He stepped back until he felt the cool wall against his back as she came closer. He held his breath (did he breathe?), hoping she would not see him.

_Ridiculous!_ Why should he, the great Phantom of the Opera, care if she saw him? He had sat at the manager's dinner-table, uninvited, unmasked, not caring who saw him…_hoping_ they all saw him. He considered - for a moment - stepping out of the shadows to reveal himself to her. But what purpose would that serve? In the end, he decided to let her pass.

As she drew closer, he debated closing his eyes, to stop her from seeing the faint glow of them…but decided not to. The natural instinct of a man who was both predator and prey was to watch any living creature who came near, threat or not.

He listened intently as she began to hum the opening number of _Otello _– the Opera that had been performed that night. That dreadful Opera…dreadful for the memories it contained. He had tried to forget…_tried so hard_.

Rather then remember, he tried to concentrate on her voice. A beautiful, rich mezzo-soprano. A little coarse, perhaps, but in the way a violin was. It was strong, yet unconfident. The problems could easily be fixed with a little personal training. He would have to remember to leave a note for the managers with a list of people in the chorus who needed and deserved personal voice training.

Now that she was passing, he focused on her face. Pretty, smooth features. Her cheekbones were a little lower then the current fashion, and her chin stuck out a little, but she was rather beautiful. Her eyes…her eyes shone with a familiar innocence. But this was not the same innocence as his…as _her_. It was more joyful, as if she did not know a single sorrow in her life.

Her striking eyes compelled him to observe her features more closely. _Mon Dieu, _her skin glowed! It was fair, yet rosy…and her hair…it was almost golden. She had a perfect smile placed on her thin, pale-pink lips.

He began to observe her body, as she retreating from his hiding-place…her fingers were slim and long, perfect for playing the piano. She was small, but appealingly so. Something about her was…alluring. She was…_perfection. _

Impossible! Ridiculous! Where had that thought come from? No, no…it was better for him to continue down the hall – _don't see where her room is!_ – and to forget about her.

Finally, he obeyed his instincts. He turned around before she stopped at her room, and continued down the hall, trying to push the girl out of his mind. He succeeded at it as well as he had in forgetting…her.

_How he wished he had closed his eyes!_

* * *

For a week, he did not leave his house on the lake. He drowned himself in his music and his magic…but nothing helped. He could not purge the girl from his mind. Why? Why did she haunt his thoughts so? There was nothing special about her. Her voice was not impressive, though it did have potential. There were many other women far more beautiful then she. And, as for her innocence…

…well, there was only one other he knew of who had her innocent look. Then again, she had lost that innocence long ago, due to him. He had utterly destroyed her…at least, the '_her_' he had fallen in love with.

Enough of those thoughts! He had to escape them! But music reminded him of her…magic reminded him of her…even the girl haunting his thoughts reminded him of her. He had to forget her.

_Pretend she is dead._ He told himself. _Pretend she went away and died. _He told himself that she was dead; over and over again…sometimes he believed it. He would see her, her red lips parted, standing in stark contrast to her deathly white skin. Her golden hair strewn across the ivory silk of a pillow, her blue eyes frozen open in panic, frozen to how they had looked whist she had been smothered.

He had to get out of that house! He had to drive them _both_ out of his mind!

….but, then again, he could at least learn the girls name…

* * *

_Where is Carlotta?_ Trinetta wondered once again as they rehearsed. Carlotta's understudy – Mademoiselle Aurélie Badeau - was still singing the role of _Desdemona_. Surely Carlotta was no longer ill? Or, perhaps, did the managers decide to be rid of her Prima Donna tantrums?

Trinetta sighed as she watched Mademoiselle Badeau in awe. Her auburn hair gleamed in the candle-light, her brown eyes had a hint of gold in them, she was tall and beautiful and – her voice! It was as though someone had combined a flute, a piano and liquid crystal and transformed the sound into a human voice. Trinetta could listen to Mademoiselle Badeau sing forever.

"It's the Phantom!" came a squeal from the hallway, and screams followed. Sighing, Reyer stopped playing and walked to the door, and opening it, said,

"If you do not mind, Mademoiselle Jammes? We are attempting to rehearse."

"I apologize, Monsieur Reyer, but-" Young Jammes attempted, but Reyer interrupted.

"No 'buts'! On your way, Mademoiselle!" he closed the door and took his place back behind the piano. He closed his eyes and breathed in a few times before opening them again and looking at Mademoiselle Badeau once more.

"From the beginning of the aria, then, Mademoiselle?" he asked. Aurélie nodded, and said something, but Trinetta had allowed her attention to wander again.

_The Phantom?_ Had Jammes truly seen him? Or was it just the over-active imagination of a young ballet girl? And why was Reyer acting so calm about it?

_Mademoiselle Pettet…_

Did he know something everyone else didn't? And what about that conversation the mangers had had before?

'"_Perhaps we should try to cover it up?"'_ Cover what up? What were they trying to hide? _Where was Carlotta?_

_Mademoiselle Pettet…_

Something was wrong. She felt it. There was some sort of scandal going on at the Opera…and Reyer was part of it…

"_Mademoiselle Trinetta Pettet!"_ Reyer's voice broke through her thoughts. "Are you paying attention?"

"Oh, yes, Monsieur!" she exclaimed. "I apologize, I…"

"Do you know the libretto yet?" Reyer demanded.

"Yes, I do."

"Good. Now try to pay attention. The chorus was miserable last performance…" and he went on into another lecture.

* * *

_Trinetta Pettet…how fitting. _He thought as he listened from the other side of the door. Mademoiselle Jammes had nearly destroyed his chance…no matter…she wouldn't see him again.

He refused to become obsessed again. He refused. He would not. He would never love again! Why would he love her? He did not know her.

…then again….he had not known _her,_ either.

Of course. Of course. There was no denying it. The stone was already set rolling…he may as well embrace his fate. Perhaps this was a second chance…a second chance given to him by God as a compensation for his deformity.

If this was recompense, he would take full advantage of it. He would find a way to make her love him. But how?

Suddenly, he knew. He knew he could not make the same mistakes again. This time, there would be no place for failure. This time, he would have to try things differently. He would have to change _himself_, or, embrace another part of himself. A part he had tried for so long to deny existed.

...And that was the last rational thought The Phantom of the Opera had.

* * *

A/N: I realize that Erik is perhaps falling for her a little fast…but its necessary for the plot. Because if it took him a while to 'love' her, then this story would go on forever. So, unless you want a hundred-chapter fanfic, this will have to do.

And RubyMoon_2_ would like to thank Vampiress787 for one of Reyer's lines in here.


	3. Chapter 3: The Masque of the Red Death

A/n: Welcome to the third chapter.

With this chapter, I'm thinking I might have to raise the rating for some graphic descriptions. What do you think?

Mominator: snicker : Great name. Anyway, the problem with a 100+ chapter story, is I don't want to _write_ a 100+ chapter story! There'll be plenty of entertainment, though. Jam-packed full of entertainment. If you like kind of scary/disturbing/insane stuff.

Jeevesandwooster: RubyMoon_2_ is a mezzo, too (at least, she thinks she is). I'm not. I'm just your regular, every-day first soprano. I must be the only person in the world who thinks that sucks.

Priestess of Anubis: RubyMoon_2_ is obsessed with Egyptology, too, especially their mythology. She likes watching the History Channel and correcting them (they make mistakes sometimes). Her favorite God is Osiris. I like Greek mythology better, myself.

Relyan: Let me know when its finished, I'd LOVE to see it! Maybe I can use that picture for inspiration better then the one I use now. Yeah, I look at pictures of my character to figure out what they might do. Sue me (please don't).

Brittanypiercy: Thanks so much for your reviews. I probably wouldn't have updated so soon if it wasn't for your latest review.

I realize some things in here would not happen, but I had to do it, for the sake of the story and my plans.

My longest chapter yet! Enjoy!

* * *

_THE "Red Death" had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal -- the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents of half an hour._

_Selection from_

The Masque of the Red Death

_By Edgar Allan Poe_

* * *

Trinetta sighed as walked down the magnificent halls of the Opera, heading for home. Reyer had let rehearsal out early, saying that they needed rest for tomorrow night's performance.

As Trinetta walked, her libretto in her arms, she ran questions through her mind, trying to find the answers. _Where is Carlotta? What are the managers trying to hide? What does Monsieur Reyer know of it? _Perhaps the managers were hiding something to do with Carlotta? But what to do with her family? Try as hard as she could, she couldn't find any answers.

_Why would Monsieur Reyer-_

"Monsieur Bertrand, I need you to take this to the prop area in the cellars." Trinetta looked up from the beautiful marble floor to see ahead of her a young stagehand (the same stagehand who had taken Reyer out of rehearsals days ago), with four of the ballet-girls costumes in his hands, and an older, angry-looking man trying to hand him one of the prop-swords from the Opera.

"Monsieur Bagot," the young stagehand sighed, "I have too much to do already."

"I need this brought down immediately!" Monsieur Bagot said, insisting. He pushed the sword into Monsieur Bertrand's hand, and continued down the hall.

Trinetta's eyes followed Monsieur Bagot as he passed her and continued down the hall, and then she turned her head to look back at the stagehand, Monsieur Bertrand. Sighing, Trinetta took a few steps forward to stand in front of Monsieur Bertrand.

"I can take this to the cellar for you." She offered, motioning towards the sword with her free hand.

Monsieur Bertrand looked up at her in shock, his chestnut brown hair falling into his dark brown eyes. Why had her heart suddenly beat faster when she saw that?

"Oh, no, Mademoiselle. That is not necessary. I can-"

"No, please." Trinetta said with a smile. "I've always wanted to see the cellars."

That was a lie. The idea of going into the cellars made her heart race and her blood turn cold. But her Father had always told her, 'Whenever you see someone who needs help, you should always do what you can to help them. They could be an angel in disguise, testing to see how good you are to your fellow-men.' Though she had long-outgrown such ideas, the meaning behind it had always stayed with her.

Monsieur Bertrand looked as though he was going to object, however he seemed to reconsider when one of the costumes nearly fell out of his hands.

"Very well." He reached into the pocket of his brown coat and took out a key. "This is a master-key for the Opera House. Each of the stagehands has one. Use this to open the door to the cellars. Go three cellars down, and turn right. You should see where all the props are kept. Put it inside the coffin, that's where all the prop-swords are kept."

Trinetta nodded. "I'll return this to you when I'm done…where will you be?"

"I'll be in the costume room. _Do not_ let anyone know that you did this, or that I gave you the key, or we shall _both_ be in trouble."

"Alright." Trinetta said, and she began for the cellar-door.

* * *

"Third cellar down…" Trinetta recalled the stagehands' instructions. "…to the left."

Trinetta looked to her left, her eyes peering in the dark. She could hardly see anything, even _with_ the lamp she was holding. She took a few steps to the left, and her heart seemed to stop when her foot went further down then she thought it would.

"Stairs…" she reassured herself. She continued down three more steps, and held the lamp out ahead of her. There in, the darkness, she could see very odd objects. Golden goblets, silver jewels, red decapitated 'heads' and blue vases with yellow 'flowers' in them. And there, is the center of the room, a large rectangular-shaped black box. A coffin.

"It's only a prop, it's only a prop…" she repeated as she slowly walked up to it. Setting the lamp, libretto, sword and master-key atop of it, she used all her strength to slowly lift the lid, and push it aside.

Trinetta frowned and coughed as a horrible stench was released into the air.

_What is that?_ She wondered before she looked into the coffin.

The warm glow of the lamp showed her what lied inside. A corpse. It's skin was deathly, unnaturally white – as white as the marble stories above her – and in harsh contrast to the reddish-brown color that covered almost all of its face. That same reddish-brown color covered the front of its scarlet-colored clothing; it's originally fair-colored hair, and the corpse's hands.

Its eyes were sunken so far into its small head that it seemed inhuman, and they were frozen open in a stare of utter terror and agony. It's jaw was frozen open as if it had been screaming when it had died, and small, ivory bones stuck out at certain places of it's neck, suggesting that it had been broken violently. Small, white wormy creatures crawled through small holes in its skin.

Trinetta was so horror-struck that she could not think, she couldn't make her legs move to run or her eyes turn away from the ghastly sight. She could not hear anything – not the sound of the rats' claws on the stone floor, not the sound of the maggots crawling through the corpse, not the sound soft sound of footsteps behind her, not the sound of the lamp, not the sound of the prop-jewels shifting in their box. She barely drew breath at all, but her heart was pounding so hard she might have thought it was going to pump right out of her chest, if she could think at all. Her corset almost seemed to be getting tighter and tighter, and her blood turned to ice water, and she felt bile in the back of her throat, and her eyes were filled with the sight of the blood – blood everywhere! – when, finally, her mind could not take the sight any longer. Her vision went black and she fainted.

* * *

Her eyes opened, and she could still see Carlotta's rotting corpse. She could still smell that putrid smell, could still feel the ice-cold terror in her veins. Yet she was no longer in the cellars.

Slowly sitting up, she blinked her eyes until she could not longer see blood in them. She was in her small dressing-room, lying on the divan, a heavy black cloak draped across her small body, a soft pillow lying where her head had rested.

She was just about to wonder how she got there, and whose cloak and pillow that could have been, when she saw the key on her vanity. She jumped to her feet and grabbed the key, then ran out of the room as fast as she possibly could.

* * *

Swinging the door to the costume-room open, she screamed:

"Monsieur Bertrand! Monsieur Bertrand!" she ran through the door, looking around wildly. He was the only one in the room, and he was counting the ballet costumes, mumbling 'I can't believe it…the things they ask me to do…I am a _stagehand…_' until he heard Trinetta's call.

"What is it? Don't yell so!" he insisted.

"Monsieur Bertrand – the coffin – there was - " she stopped, tying to catch her breath.

"There was…what?" he asked. "What are you so upset over?"

"A body!" she exclaimed. "A body was in the coffin, and-" Monsieur Bertrand covered her mouth with his hand.

"Be silent. I'm going to close the door, and I will be right back. Don't say a word, do you understand?"

Trinetta – terrified and confused – simply nodded. She stood there, staring at nothing as he closed the door. When she heard the soft 'click' of the lock, she turned to face him. He walked up until he was so close to her she could almost feel his breath.

"Now…was it Madame Carlotta?"

Trinetta nodded, confused. How did he know? How could he possibly know-?

Of course. He had found her first. _That_ was why he had so desperately needed to speak to the managers, _that_ was what the managers were trying to hide, _that_ was what Reyer knew. They all knew Carlotta was dead. They all knew she had been murdered grotesquely. Why were they hiding it? Had they told the police?

As questions were answered, so more questions came, and this time by the hundreds.

"Yes." Monsieur Bertrand said as he saw the realization in her eyes. "The Phantom murdered her. The managers know, but they aren't going to tell anyone until the season is over, so they do not lose money."

He took a small step closer and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"You _cannot_ tell a soul. Do you understand? No one." Trinetta opened her mouth to object, but he spoke again: "I know it's difficult. I've had to keep the secret for…it seems forever. But you can't tell anyone, or the managers will throw your contract into the fire."

Trinetta swallowed hard. How could she keep such a gruesome, bloody secret? Yet, how could she tell and lose her passion?

"I won't tell anyone, I promise."

* * *

Closing A/n: In the next chapter, Trinetta hears Erik for the first time! And RubyMoon_2_ would like to make an announcement:

'I'M GETTING KEN HILL'S PHANTOM OF THE OPERA CD! Waaaaaa-hooooooo! '

…I wouldn't have included that if I didn't owe her so much.


End file.
